There's A Wolf In My Heart
by FeatherEars
Summary: To fill her coffers and fund her adventures, a Dovahkiin with a well established reputation joins the companions. FarkasOC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Skyrim.

I wanted to make a fanfiction that wouldn't follow the story line too closely, as personally I find that too boring to read. Instead, I wanted to fill in the blanks and maybe change things around. Inspired by such songs as Radioactive by Imagine Dragons, You are the Wilderness by Voxhaul Broadcast and numerous Florence and the Machine tracks. I would also like to thank my best friend Stacey, the grammer nazi, for being my beta.

* * *

The majority of initiates who came pleading to join the companions were unknown to anyone - like children, they were unseasoned, but seeking something more than themselves; wishing to be part of the pack. After earning their favour, these newbloods would be torn up from their roots, like wood or ore; they were shaped, polished and honed into fine weapons to be admired and feared, yet as Farkas stood under the wooden awning at the back of Jorrvasker, leaning against a beam that had seen many shoulders in it's time, he realised this rite of passage would be somewhat different from others. The woman who stood central in the courtyard was Whiterun's Thane, and the bards had been singing of her triumph over the recently returned dragons. Vilkas had his sword and shield up, taunting the woman for having a bow slung on her back.

"Pick up a real weapon," he mocked her, dark hair falling to cover his eyes.

The Thane's auburn head tilted, regarding his brother with a quirked eyebrow and an analytical expression, before turning to walk towards a weapon rack. Taking her time, she carefully placed an exquisite looking bow and quiver on the ground, before picking up a one handed sword from the rack at random. She rejoined Vilkas in the center, her feet shifting, knees bending, ready to charge or defend. The slimmer brother frowned and goaded her into attacking.

The women moved then, a small quick thing, feinting an attack to his right, forcing Vilkas to swiftly shift his shield in that direction. She spun then to the left, and bent low, sending the pommel of her sword into the back of his left knee which was now exposed. Vilkas grunted as his leg buckled and the joint hit the stone floor. Now behind him, she brought the blade of her sword to rest against the side of his neck. Farkas twitched, instinctively wanting to move to protect his family.

"And how do we test your strength if you resort to those sorts of tactics?" Vilkas snorted, no worse for wear but as bitter as he usually was.

"If you are testing me, shouldn't you know all of my abilities?" She asked, not seeming concerned with the welcome she was getting.

Farkas was of two minds; on one hand, he agreed with his brother and thought that every warrior should know how to wield a true weapon with strength, but he also admired the woman's speed, dexterity and strategies. If you could get an opponent that was larger than you on their knees, no matter the method, was that not favourable? And indeed, the woman was a short Imperial, not built like sturdy Nord women.

She moved her sword away from his brothers flesh, and made a light motion on his back as if to say 'get up'.

"I'll not have my name dragged through the mud because of this," she commented lightly, readying herself . "We shall try again, and I'll show you my arm."

"And what is your name?" Vilkas questioned, rising and dusting off his sore knee.

"If you had paid attention instead of judging me when I was talking to your leader, you would have heard it. It is Rowan."

Both of them were breathing heavy by the end. Vilkas had been stubborn, and tried to test Rowan to her limits. Other recruits would have received his approval half an hour ago, but she kept coming, her stamina plentiful as she bashed down upon his iron shield over and over, switching the angles of her blows constantly to keep him guessing.

She opened her stance once they were done, letting the sword drag on the floor slightly as Vilkas gave her the newcomers speech . After relaxing, she put the sword back on the rack, retrieved her weapons from the floor before returning and dutifully taking Vilkas' sword for sharpening.

As Farkas followed her movements up to the Skyforge with his pale eyes, he considered her form. She was short in stature, which may have explained why she was light on her feet. From what he could make out under her fur and leather armour, she had a slim torso and shoulders, and hips that flared, with sturdy legs to support her.

"Brother," Vilkas spoke, seeking his attention. Farkas turned his gaze and regarded him, eyes automatically scanning for injuries despite him having witnessed the test.

"Looks like she won't need too much training. Her sword work needs some looking at though, it's clear she's too used to using that bow," Farkas noted with furrowed brows, hoping his twin wasn't too sour over the events.

"Kodlak saw her potential. I just thought she was a politician thinking she was entitled to glory she does not deserve."

Farkas knew his brother prized his intelligence, to the point where he would berate himself for being wrong. He placed a sturdy hand on his shoulder, shaking it reassuringly. "Nobody can know everything, brother," he smiled before directing them both towards the warm fires and cold mead inside.


	2. Chapter 2

It was months before Rowan came back from her job in Falkreath.

She had made the Companions aware of her ever increasing responsibilities, but wondered whether her quests and wandering would affect her joining their guild. The call of the Greybeards weighed heavily upon her conscience, but she needed the funds to make such a trip safely, hence her doing any job that was thrown her way. Whilst she earned a commission from the Jarl's treasury for being Whiterun's Thane, the coin was only enough to keep her living in the city and could not be used for adventuring; it kept her and Lydia fed, housed and comfortable, which was a blessing, but being the Dovahkiin was expensive. She could not fight dragons with poor equipment and armour. She could not fight dragons without potions and other medical supplies. She could not fulfill her destiny, and climb the Throat of the World, without gold in her purse.

She had done well for herself, considering she had crawled out of Helgan's fires with nothing but the clothes on her back and a pilfered bow. It seemed so long ago that it happened, yet Rowan knew it had only been a year or so. The daughter of a merchant family, she had been caught up in the ambush at the border. Her family didn't make it and she herself was nearly the victim of military politics. She survived though, and breathed the sweet air she never fully appreciated before. Reborn with a fire in her belly.

She and Lydia walked through Whiterun, burdened with as much loot at they could carry. They had caught a stray horse on the road, a runaway from the war perhaps, that they used to carry more valuables.

As Rowan led the skinny, nervous horse across the cobbles, she caught the eye of Farkas bartering at Warmaiden's. He held a crate of iron ingots under one burly arm and he waved to her with the other. Rowan nodded for Lydia, who seemed like she was ready to drop from exhaustion, to go on ahead to their house.

She walked the horse over, gestured to the crate and asked, "Are you running an errand, Farkas?"

"Yeah," he smiled, pale eyes glancing over the overflowing bags hanging from her back. "Grey-Mane's run out of iron again. Did you complete the job?"

"Yes, all went well. No more bandits in Falkreath for the moment. The hold needed my help with other things though, hence the delay," she said as she looked up to the gigantic Nord, adjusting the straps of the bags she was carrying. She was desperate to alleviate the pressure on her back. "Do the companions mind that I take so long to get the jobs done?" She asked earnestly. Sometimes she felt like she was trying to please too many people.

Farkas shrugged his massive shoulders, unnerved by the open look on her face like she was ready to receive bad news. "You're doing other honorable work besides our jobs. It's not a problem."

Rowan nodded with an unsure smile before turning to leave. "I had better go. I need to get this poor sod stabled and fed."

Farkas nudged her with his shoulder as he walked past her. "Come see me when you've rested. I've another job if you're interested."

She curiously watched his back as he walked back to Jorrvaskr. He was like a bear, but considerate and straight talking. Like Lydia, but with more muscle and hair.

* * *

Rowan sat with Lydia at her kitchen table. Their boots were hastily discarded by the door, and they both had their feet in iron pots filled with hot water.

"Shit," Lydia sighed, rubbing her eyes, before placing her head and arms on the wooden surface.

Rowan glanced down at her submerged feet, wiggling her toes to create ripples. "These feet will never be the same again," she lamented.

Her housecarl only groaned in response. Some minutes later, Lydia's eyes peered out from underneath her hair. "I think we're cursed. We go to Falkreath, kill some bandits, follow a talking dog, kill some vampires, find out he's the pet of a Daedric Lord, turn down his crazy errand and run like hell back to Falkreath."

There had been a man as well, in Falkreath's jail. Half-starved and partly submerged in water, he had been a pitiful and disturbing sight. The man, Sinding, had claimed to be under the influence of Hircine's curse, Lycanthropy, when he ripped apart the little girl. He had asked for her help, but overwhelmed and conflicted, she had walked away. Lydia had genuinely thanked her for not dragging her into that job.

Rowan shook her head and mumbled about needing sleep.

At some point they both went up to their rooms and buried themselves under blankets and furs, sleeping away their aches.

* * *

Rowan woke up in the middle of the night. She would have loved to put her head back down and lie in, but her mind was already buzzing with what needed to be done. There were items to sell and she had to give some guy his father's sword back as well as telling Saadia that the Alik'r had been dealt with.

She rubbed her brown eyes before giving up on sleep. Rolling out of the wooden bed, she pulled on some soft leather pants and boots. She finished by throwing on a blue tunic and hastily tying a belt around her hips. She thought about using a leather strip to tie up her hair but couldn't be bothered at this time of night.

Rowan quickly checked on Lydia before heading out, noticing with amusement how she had discarded most of her clothing and swung a leg off the bed. She made her way to Jorrvaskr, hoping to catch someone who was awake. The plumes of smoke were still billowing out of the large thatched roof as if it was daytime, which the Thane took for a good sign. The chill in the air awakened her senses and the lights in the sky calmed her restless mind.

Upon entering the home of the Companions, the warmth hit her so suddenly it made her break out into an instant sweat. Only Vilkas was awake it seemed. He sat reading by the light of the blazing fires, nursing a mug of mystery liquid. Rowan didn't try to mask the sound of her footsteps as she approached him, and he glanced up from his book with a quirked eyebrow.

"Dragonborn," he greeted. "Farkas told us you finished the bandit job." He reached behind him then, and tossed a pouch jingling with coin into her hands.

Rowan outstretched her arm, easily catching the money. She juggled the money from one hand to another, testing the weight and guessing how much she had made. Not too bad. "Much obliged. Your brother said he had another job for me?"

"Aye," Vilkas said, eyes still in his book. "You would need to speak to him about that though. If you don't want to wait until morning, you'll find him spilling his mead at the Bannered Mare."

Rowan nodded in thanks, and turned to leave, impatient to have her next mission, but dreading the extra work all the same.

Vilkas halted her for a moment with a question.

"The dragons that you've killed. Describe them?" He asked curiously.

"The dragons," Rowan sighed, turning to make eye contact. Her face was troubled, contorted with a secret torment. "I wish I did not have to kill them. When they speak... you can feel their words...the weight of them."

She left it at that, not wanting to delve into her regrets too much. She was not allowed to regret her destiny.


	3. Chapter 3

Farkas was hunched over a worn table in the corner of the Bannered Mare, sharing tales with other locals over a few tankards of mead. He did this most nights as a way to pass the moonlight hours he was unable to sleep through. Being a werewolf meant the little sleep he got was more a battle with his bed sheets than anything else. His brother liked books to fill his spare time but he on the other hand preferred his drink.

Despite the late hour the inn was warm and lively. The bard sang in the centre of the room, his jovial expression encouraging others to join in his vocalisation. Farkas heard the noise of the drunk locals cheering along to the heroic songs simmer down to a tense silence. The tune change abruptly to 'The Dragonborn Comes'. His speech broke off, mid-story, as he turned around to see why the mood had been dampened. That particular song was one of the more popular ones if he remembered rightly.

Rowan stood by the entrance looking flushed - though whether it was from the temperature change or social awkwardness, he was unsure. He watched her closely. Her eyes seemed to search intently through the intoxicated people, as if trying to root someone out. He imagined she felt irked by the awed gazes of the citizenry.

Her brown eyes locked onto his and he was surprised that to see the relief that instantly flooded her face when she realised it was him.

When she started to make her way towards him, he had to admit he was pleased.

When she ignored everyone else around her, it stroked his ego, so he straightened his back and tried to cover up the fact he was well into his eighth mug.

When she she came to a halt in front of him and starting talking, Farkas found himself missing her words in favour of starring at her chapped lips.

"-have another job for me?" She asked, eyebrow raised. He noticed her eyes were a deep brown, dark and warm. He glanced around the room, a subtle reminder for the ogling public to get on with their lives and stop eavesdropping. Remembering their manners, the drunken inhabitants of Whiterun quickly turned away from them. The men he had been sat with sluggishly cleared the table and left while the bard thankfully began to sing Ragnar the Red.

"This job's the decider," he began as Rowan took a seat opposite him. The leather she wore creaked as she lent forward to place her elbows on the worn, scratched wood. "The companions have been searching for the pieces of Ysgramor's legendary axe, Wuuthrad. We got a location on the next piece. Kodlak decided I should take you along, to prove your honour."

"And if my honour is proven?" She asked, leaning back in the chair and raising a hand to catch the attention of the circling barmaids.

"Then your in," he smiled. She grinned back, though he suspected by the way the expression didn't touch her eyes that the news wasn't all that exciting to her. "You good to leave at dawn?" He often forgot, but he made an effort to be considerate of other people's sleeping patterns.

Rowan asked the women who hurried to their table for a sweet wine diluted with water, much to his curiousity. "I wont sleep now for a while," she stated, looking after the barmaid who scurried off. "I will need an hour to prepare my things and make my housecarl aware, but other than that I'm just wasting time."

Farkas appraised her over his tankard, noticing she was more at ease than when she had come in. He was taking a wild guess about her personality but he said what he was thinking all the same. "You seem more relaxed now I've given you a mission," he commented lightly, trying to act natural as he rubbed the stubble on his face.

The smile that grew on her face now was genuine. His keen pale eyes could tell because she averted her own dark orbs from his and tried in vain to hide her teeth behind pursed tilted lips. "Am I that transparent?" She laughed. Farkas simply smirked at her from across the table.

Once her beverage of choice arrived, she leaned back more comfortably and took a sip. "Tell me about Ysgramor."

* * *

Farkas met Rowan at the gates of Whiterun a few hours later. He was beginning to feel the come down from the alcohol but she by comparison was fresh as a daisy. He had for the most part enjoyed talking to her about the Companions and how he and his brother had grown up into the adopted family - even if the conversations were rather one-sided. Rowan had mostly smiled and nodded, seeming content to listen whilst he was happy to share.

He had suggested that they take horses to Dustman's Cairn, but she had flat out refused, stating that the horse she had rescued would still be recovering and she wouldn't pay to rent one from the stables.

He hadn't on first impressions taken her for a penny-pincher but it didn't matter much to Farkas how they got there, as long as they did. Perhaps he could twist this story when telling the Circle and say she wanted to travel honourably and convince them she was the enduring type.

They both set off at a brisk pace, warming themselves under the rising sun. As they progressed, the land was drenched in the glow, becoming blindingly bright as it shimmered off the fresh snow. Along the sides of the road where the snow thinned, wild flowers were spotted occasionally. When Rowan saw them she snagged the flower heads and herbs leaves before depositing them carefully into pouches.

Farkas regarded her with a raised eyebrow. "Why are you fussing over flowers?"

"It's cheaper to make potions than it is to buy them," she explained as she jogged to catch up with him.

"Seems like a lot of effort," he said, tone teasing.

She snorted at him and adjusted the bag on her shoulders. "Some people like to take the easy route. I don't. Besides, I have to see the Greybeards at High Hrothgar. A trip like that is unpredictable so I've been saving up my gold."

As they walked along the cobbled path, he turned his head to frown at her. "A lot of pilgrims climb the seven thousand steps without carrying a vaults worth of gold on their backs. I did it once when I was younger with Vilkas. You just have to be careful of the beasts up there."

"And what about the weather?" She questioned, doubtful. "I'm an Imperial, brought up in a border town. I find it hard to handle ordinary Skyrim temperatures, never mind how it gets up in the mountains," Rowan admitted as she bristled her shoulders, just a tinge of shame in her tone.

It was true that when Farkas stole a glance at her, her face was unusually flushed; and thinking back he had heard her teeth chattering once or twice.

"Maybe, but the Imperial army manage here just fine. If you're survival instincts are good you'll make the climb no problem," he reassured her. In the act of doing so, he perhaps admitted to himself he was gaining a soft spot for the recruit.

She looked pensive at his words.

* * *

It had taken them a week to trek to the ruins, but Farkas didn't mind as it was spent in good company; although he was getting annoyed as his beard grew out and made his chin itchy. The journey would have taken longer if they weren't both such light sleepers. During the trip he had observed the woman making a potions out of the herbs she had collected, hunting animals expertly with her bow, cooking decent meals over campfires out of the meager resources they could carry, scavenging for things she could sell on and above all, never seeming to reveal too much about herself.

As he sat on a damp fallen log at camp, spooning some rabbit stew out of his worn clay travelling bowl, he thought of how to coax her into leaking more information about herself. When the pair hadn't been silent on their travels, it had mostly been him doing the talking, and when he had tried to twist the conversation's focus onto her, she would volley it back and ask him a question about himself.

Rowan herself was emptying the fluid out of the stew pot, having had her fill. She let the remaining meat stay in the pot to cook dry for use as snacks tomorrow. She chucked a pinch of salt in, then plopped down on a low boulder to massage her calves through her armour.

"You said you lived in a border village?" He asked around a mouthful of food. She raised her head to look at him from under her eyelashes and still concentrated on working her fingers into her leg muscles - an act he found thoroughly distracting. He kept the eye contact however, and she broke under the unwavering gaze.

"Knifepoint Ridge used to be a small town, mainly made up of farmers, merchants and an inn. Father used to sell all sorts to travellers. The town's gone now though. When the Imperial's ambushed the Stormcloaks who were staying at the inn, they put everything to the torch and salted the earth. Last I heard it was a bandit camp."

Rowan explained this all so coldly, so clinically that Farkas thought he felt a shiver go down his spine. She stared blankly into the distance past his shoulder. Like a dog with a bone though, he didn't let it go despite the emotional upheaval he might have caused.

"How did you get away?" He asked softly.

The firelight shining in her eyes made them appear honeyed and vulnerable, and the crackling of the burning wood was deafening in the tense silence.

"I didn't... Mother was killed by an arrow and father died either from the fire in the house, or the house itself collapsing. I can't be certain... I was running for my life at that point. I was knocked out by a soldier. I awoke on a prison wagon leagues away from my home and was taken to Helgan." Her features then changed, her eyebrows pinched, her nose scrunched and she appeared to snarl. "They didn't even charge me for any crimes yet they were willing to behead me to save themselves some trouble."

She went quiet then, seeming to mull over memories and anger.

"Wasn't Helgan attacked by a dragon?" He prompted. He started this, so he may as well push her towards the end of her tale. When Rowan looked at him, he could feel the resentment of his questions rolling off her in waves.

"...I was about to be executed. The dragon came and near enough wiped everyone out just before the headsman took his swing," she laughed hollowly at the irony. Farkas imagined this was rather cathartic for Rowan, as she didn't look like she'd revealed this information to many others. He wondered if her housecarl knew there was this much raw emotion bubbling beneath the surface of her Thane, like a kettle that had been left above the fire too long. "Buildings were coming down. Fires were spreading. I kept tripping over dead bodies. I followed a Stormcloak soldier to safety through a dungeon as the foundations shook around us. I took my bow off a dead man, crawled out of a cave then made my way to Riften with the soldier. Everything that happens after that is known."

Farkas watched her worry her thumb over the tip of the bow she had mentioned. The weapon looked like it had seen a few modifications - he doubted the item had looked as fine as it did when she first picked it up.

The wound had been lanced, now it just needed to heal. Farkas picked up his axe as he stood.

"Sounds like you're a strong person then...but I'm not convinced yet."

It was an invitation to have a friendly one on one, without the question being asked. She glanced at him, part insulted, part questioning, but there was determination and fire in her eyes as she straightened herself to follow him to the side of their camp. Rowan stood opposite him, and unsheathed the slim one handed sword she had belted at her hip. The blade was not her weapon of choice and he knew she had only brought it along to prove her honour in the Cairn.

He nodded to her, a sign to get ready. Farkas knew this was what she needed right now. They had both been forged in the flames of battle. The relief for such negative feelings was some good old fashioned physical exertions. Adrenaline was the antidote of choice for people like them.

The barren ground beneath them was scuffed as they prepared their stances, bending knees and rolling shoulders.

With a sudden burst he wasn't expecting, she was across the makeshift clearing and in front of him within a second. He struggled to bring his axe to up to block her downward thrust. He had a brief flashback to when Vilkas had tested her in Jorrvaskr's courtyard and realised his mistake. With the light weight of her sword, Rowan was easily able to get another blow in before Farkas recovered his position. The pommel of the weapon slammed into his ribs, and although she wasn't strong enough to wind him, she had aimed rather well and gone for a small opening in the side of his armour where he wasn't protected by steel.

As he regained his stance and regarded her again, he thought to himself that this shouldn't have come to a surprise to him; she was an experienced archer and would naturally pick out weak spots in a targets defences.

He tested her with a few more strikes of his axe, to get a feel for how she fought.

Having no shield or metal armour, Rowan relied heavily on acrobatics, dodging and opportunistic hits. She ducked under his arms whenever he swung his weapon and landed blows with either the flat side of her blade or pommel as she passed before lurching out of the way of any other attacks he had lined up. When she was unable to get out of the way of his blows, she was forced to catch the axe with her sword mid-air and using the monentum of the attack, swing it away from her. Farkas knew she couldn't take the brute force of his offence without seriously losing ground or maybe even breaking her blade, and he was pleased to see her adapt to the situation.

The scuffle was a game of cat and mouse that made his wolf want to come out and play. He barely landed a blow on her as she danced, dived and even once back flipped unsteadily away from his constant barrage, whilst she would occasionally land bruising blows to his sides. He imagined that if she were to use the sharp edge of her blade the fight would have ended much quicker.

Rowan eventually lost stamina though, and her movements became shaky as her breath came out in pants. Sweat beaded on her forehead yet the eyes below still burned with a bloodlust that needed to be settled.

Taking a leaf out of her book, he used that split second to throw his axe out into a horizontal arc, knowing she wouldn't have the strength or the reflexes now to avoid such a wide ranging strike.

The sword she tried holding in two hands to block flew from her grasp and landed somewhere to the left of her with a clang. Not one to give up without a weapon, Rowan raised her fists.

Farkas, unsatisfied, and inner wolf egging him on, dropped his own weapon and moved to grasp both her fists in his meaty hands. He threw his weight behind his arms and shoulders, and they both stood trembling with exhaustion whilst he attempted to dominate and she used all her remaining strength to stay standing and not buckle to the floor in submission.

They both stared each other down through squinted eyes and bared teeth. Farkas felt her losing the fight, inch by inch, her back arching as she tried to retain her balance against the onslaught. Her auburn head reared back and her throat was exposed. If he just bent down and...

His eyes caught her expression, noticing her intense gaze. He mistook the meaning and was about to give her a wolfish grin when she inhaled deeply, her slender torso ballooning. That wasn't so worrying as the feeling that followed, like there wasn't enough oxygen left in the space between them. The air seemed to shimmer around her mouth, like a hot day might warp the air on the horizon.

"Fus!"

Farkas saw only a blur of colours and scenary before he crashed painfully to the ground. He raised his head and found himself a good distance away from where he was previously standing. The voice that had just threw him across the clearing didn't sound anything like Rowan's voice. It had been deep and held a power that made you want to listen intently but also cover your ears; the loudest whisper he had ever heard. Her strange talent had left him quivering.

A boot landed on his chest and a weight was applied. He blinked up to see Rowan, looking tired, stubborn, triumphant and more significantly, looking _healed_.

"I win," she smiled wearily, wisps of hair smeared across her sweat drenched face.

He threw his arm over his head and laughed, secretly enjoying the view of her trembling legs.


	4. Chapter 4

Rowan was woken from an unsettling dream by an ice-cold drop of rain on her cheek. Groaning, she bunched her fists under the top of her bedroll and brought it up over her head to move the offending moisture away. Keeping her head under the material she took a moment to think on her not-quite-nightmares. They were always vague and frustrating; dreams of running away from an unknown entity or of not being able to catch something.

Peering out from her covers and blinking against the spatters of rain, Rowan heard Farkas snoring and saw him half out of his own blankets and clearly not bothered by the pre-dawn cold. Sighing, she decided that last night hadn't been as bad as it could have been, considering she had touched on a past she liked to pretend didn't exist. The fight had been good. She had been too tired afterwards to second guess herself, too sore to contemplate her history. Much like after any battle when the adrenaline had disappeared, she felt empty afterwards - in a positive way, like the feelings she had been building up had been cleansed.

Rowan snuggled back into the darkness of her bedroll and dozed. She knew it wouldn't be long before the rain soaked through, but in the meantime she could use her new found peace of mind to daydream about her home.

She could remember that her mother was terrible at cooking and her father used to give her determined looks across the kitchen table that suggested they could make it through another meal. She recalled that she would help him with trading some days; Rowan was good with her numbers and liked to do stock takes on their wares. She had also fancied the farmer's son; as a teenager, she used to chase the lad into the barn, corner him by the hay bales and beg him to kiss her. When she was a few years older she asked for more. She let a nostalgic smile touch her face at the thought. Even if he was probably dead, the memories she held were still precious. She nearly laughed to herself when she remembered going home after hastily re-dressing herself. Her mother, having spotted the straw in her hair, had knowing exactly what she had been up to and had been horrified.

Rowan could feel rain seeping through to her now, so she wriggled out of her confines and shoved on her boots before her feet could become wet. Looking at Farkas, who was still blissfully unaware of the weather, she thought about how passionate about life she had been back then, especially when it came to the farmer's son. She used to swoon over his laborer's arms and aggressively pursue him.

In truth, she hadn't thought that way about a man since her home town had been razed. Did that mean she was broken? Or had that farmer boy meant so much to her that she couldn't contemplate relations with another person?

Seeing as she had officially ruined her good mood in a matter of minutes, she decided to nudge Farkas awake with her foot.

He choked on his snore and looked up at her with one eye. Rowan felt despondent looking down at the charming grin he was giving her seeing as she had just booted him awake. She'd never known anyone to flash a smile like that to the person who woke them up. A grin like that used to make her melt when she was younger. There must be something wrong with her?

* * *

Dustman's Cairn was humid and stuffy compared to the temperature outside and Rowan found it difficult to breathe the heavy stagnant air. As the solid stone door was closed, the whistling of the wind stopped and all that was left to hear was the steady drip-drip of moisture that was leaking through the walls.

"There could be draugr down here so keep your eyes peeled," Farkas warned, unsheathing his axe.

Rowan nodded and followed suit with her sword.

They advanced carefully into the Cairn, checking corners and being mindful of the corpses they walked past. A few did rise from their resting places to give them trouble but Rowan took point and dispatched them quickly, eager to impress. She made sure she kept low and tried to intercept enemies before they spotted her.

Getting rid of the walking dead was dull in comparison to the previous night's events though.

They didn't talk much, but rather took cues from each other through gestures and expressions. Farkas would nod his head towards potential threats and Rowan would hold her hand up whenever she thought he was going to set off any traps. She hadn't thought it possible for her to be so synchronised with anyone but Lydia.

At one point he did stop to question why she snuck around so much instead of just confronting enemies. She threw an annoyed gaze over her shoulder at him.

"I never asked to be Dragonborn, Farkas. I didn't pick up a weapon one fine day and decide this is what a I wanted to do for the rest of my life."

"But you're a strong fight-" he began to retort earnestly.

"So strong the only way I could win against you was to use a shout? If I use that down here, we're buried. I'm not arguing Farkas - this is how I do things. This is how I survived. This is how I will continue to survive. If any other situation demands it, you know I'll confront my enemies."

From then on they moved in silence, not wanting to start any arguments.

Eventually they came into a chamber with alcoves carved into the walls. The two of them moved further in to try and find the correct way forward. Rowan stopped in her tracks as she noticed the faint shadow she was casting. Glancing behind her, she saw a single torch, burning so low in its bracket it was close to smoldering.

"Someone's been here," she warned.

Farkas turned to regard the same light with a frown. "We might have company the further in we go," he stated grimly, pointing to the exit he spotted which was blocked off by a gate.

Rowan glanced around quickly, trying to find a way through the gate. In a gloomy recess carved out of the wall, there was a lever set into a stone bench. Without a thought she trotted over, gripped the contraption one handed, and pulled.

The grating sound of metal on stone echoed throughout the room and Rowan turned, panicked, to find she was trapped in by a similar gate to the one that was blocking their exit.

"Shit!"

She rushed and pressed herself against the bars. Farkas' brow creased with worry as he looked at her. He then tilted his head, as if he could hear or smell something. He turned to face in the opposite direction, unsheathing his axe in the same movement. From Rowan's position he seemed to crouching ready for something, though she was unsure what.

In the momentary silence she was about to ask what he was waiting for but then the sound of jeering echoed down the path which had been blocked. The gate opened and half a dozen people poured into the stone room, brandishing their weapons and shouting at Farkas. The words echoed around the chamber so Rowan couldn't make out what was being said. She hadn't realised she had already nocked an arrow and was aiming it through the bars over Farkas' shoulder.

"You won't live to tell the tale," she heard him say confidently.

A sickening sound was heard - the sound of bones cracking and tissue tearing, but Rowan hadn't seen anyone move to attack. Then Farkas lurched forward and his form began to change. His head elongated, and coarse black fur sprouted from his skin. His clothes tore, and even his metal armour warped and split with the force of the transformation.

"Get him now!" One of the assailants yelled and as they lunged forward Rowan let her arrow go without really contemplating what she was doing. It lodged in the person's eye with a crunch and they crumpled to the floor. She had given Farkas, or the beast, a chance to straighten out and start attacking back.

Rowan lowered her bow and braced herself on the wall as she watched the chaos. She breathed a deep shaky breath, feeling like she hadn't taken in oxygen since she drew her bow. Maybe she hadn't?

It was clear now he was a werewolf. For a split second Rowan thought of Sinding who was imprisoned in the jail at Falkreath. His eyes had been haunted and dark, rimmed with black from lack of sleep. Farkas, though his eyes were often bright and inviting were also darkened in the same manner. It was obvious now that wasn't due to the cosmetics or insomnia that she had brushed it off as.

The long claws Farkas had grown were slicing throats and gutting people with a ruthless efficiency. Within a minute they were all dead, blood pooling between the crevices in the stone floor like spilled ink.

The wolf turned around and stared at her with intense amber eyes; nothing like the cool blue of Farkas'. She momentarily feared the beast would charge for the gate in an attempt to get to her, so she straightened herself and purposely maintained eye contact, the grip on her bow turning her knuckles white. All she could think about was the little girl from Falkreath - the one Sinding apparently mutilated. The only thing they found of her was bones.

"Farkas?" She called, trying not to let her voice falter.

Relief flooded her when he ran off into a hallway, leaving her alone. The fear returned abruptly when the gate that had trapped her suddenly retreated back up into the ceiling. She felt the loss of its protection sharply. A switch must have been triggered in the other hallway. She removed an arrow from the quiver on her back, readying herself.

Her preparations were unneeded as when Farkas returned, no longer sporting claws and a snout. He was also bereft of clothing.

Rowan stared, wide eyed and disbelieving, as the burly man shuffled into the room and ripped a cloak off the nearest dead body to cover himself with.

He looked up to her with his eyes the colour of ice again. He came across as sheepish, keeping his head hung low.

"Did I scare you?" He asked, brow pinched with concern.

Truthfully, Rowan had been scared. Letting arrows fly into a dragon that was a good distance away from her didn't hold the same terror as being corner underground with a feral beast that was twice her size and weight. She could usually shout as well, if things came too close to her, but she would make this crypt hers if she used _Fus Ro Dah _in this unstable environment.

The expectant look on his face had her lying smoothly before she registered what she was saying.

"You're no dragon, Farkas."

He grinned at her, all teeth, and went to remove any suitable clothes from the dead bodies that littered the room. Rowan stood still, still reeling from the events but not wanting to give herself away. Her eyes found themselves staring intently at the Companion, whose flesh was lit up by the abandoned torches of the dead. The broad shoulders and chest, muscles moving fluidly under the skin as he yanked a pair of trousers off a corpse. Lower still, his waist tapered in a pleasant way, and even with the cloak covering him, she could make out in the gloom the defined lines that ran from his hip to under the cloth.

His legs stretched out from under the cloak, and here her gaze stopped and rooted itself. His thighs looked powerful. Sturdy enough to support her if she were to-

The jolt that hit her lower stomach startled her and she shamefully looked up to the ceiling, feeling her face turn hot and her palms start to sweat.

Considering what she was thinking about just this morning she felt a little pleased by this. At least she was functioning. The adrenaline was still pumping through her system, making her feel as if this moment was revelatory and important.

"You can look now," he called, looking uncomfortable in another person's ill-fitting clothes and armour.

If only he knew how much she _had _looked.

* * *

They travelled further into the crypt with less trepidation after knowing the "Silver Hand", as Farkas informed her they were called, had been cleared out. They didn't bother to muffle their footsteps anymore, their original task seeming mundane and unimportant now. Together they casually slew draugr whilst Rowan asked questions about Farkas' affliction.

It surprised her that the inner circle of the Companions were all werewolves. Sinding had seemed disturbed and dangerous, but the Companions seemed like a trust worthy, tight knit family. Perhaps that was the difference between a lone wolf and a pack.

"Kodlak hates what he has become - as he gets older he thinks more of Sovngarde. Then there's Aela. She wouldn't give up the gift for all the gold and glory in the world," Farkas explained, hand gestures accompanying his voice. He pointed to a draugr rising from its crypt and Rowan quickly shot it with an arrow, eager to get back to the conversation.

"How do _you_ feel about it?" She asked curiously, nocking another arrow onto her bow. She felt like being here was no longer about proving her honour to join his guild, but more about having Farkas clear the air and tell her the truth.

"I can see, hear and smell better, but I'll never be able to get a good night's sleep again. It has ups and downs."

After navigating the catacombs and even walking through a waterfall they came upon an iron door. Rowan was about to push the door open when she felt a whisper ahead, calling to her; the usual white noise that that she could hear coming from a word wall. If there was a word wall, that meant plenty of killing to be done.

"Something wrong?" Farkas queried, eyeing the door and readjusting the grip on his axe.

"There's probably a lot of draugr in there," she answered, placing her bow on her back and unsheathing her sword. She didn't give him time to question how she knew as she shouldered the door and charged in.

Awoken by the shriek of the iron door's rusted hinges, dust flew from the seals of crypts lining the walls before the slabs of stone sealing them fell to the floor in quick succession, making an echoing percussive beat. The corpses of buried Nords walked again and attempted to attack them.

As Farkas stood his ground and obliterated anything that came at him, Rowan weaved between the monsters, slicing them as she passed to ensure she wasn't backed into a corner. Their flesh produced no blood when torn - only dust or puss. She maneuvered carefully, taking the draugr out one at a time as she back-peddled up some steps towards the back of the room. As she slew the last one at the top of the steps she felt a strong force, compelling her to turn around.

A word wall. Its dragon language etched deep into the rock.

At this proximity the whispers she had heard were now chants drumming in her head and heart. She could hear the sounds of Farkas' battle behind her as if someone was rubbing two coins together in their palm instead of metal meeting metal.

A pull lured her forward and her vision blurred as she read the words, a requiem for a child king who was burned alive. The word "Yol", or fire, stood out in her mind, and became her focus. She absorbed it, and the word enveloped her, became her.

She burned and buckled to the floor. She seethed with rage and clenched her teeth. She felt the white heat of passion and maybe she screamed but she couldn't hear herself past the voices, the pounding beat and the pure essence of the word she was forced to learn.

Some words were easier to learn and left little impact on her, but those tended to be the less powerful shouts. She could feel it in herself this was a word with a lot of potential. She felt stronger just by knowing it.

As the tangle of emotion and sensation began to ebb away, Rowan noticed - or rather, felt - an arm around her back and shoulders. Looking up from her place on the floor, she saw Farkas, once again looking concerned.

"You gonna throw up?" He asked.

She laughed. On her knees and staring at the floor, it probably did look like she was going to vomit across the stone.

"I'm fine. I've just learned a new shout from that wall over there," Rowan explained. She didn't make any move to shift the burly arm wrapped around her. Casual touches were something she no longer experienced; there was the occasional pat on the back between her and Lydia, but nothing as comforting as her present situation. It must have been something her body craved because she felt relaxed and calm, even with her knees digging into the floor.

"What shout?" He questioned curiously as he removed his arm, much to Rowan's disappointment.

"Fire."

"Well that's convenient," he smirked to her as he helped her off the ground, "there's another entrance over there that's blocked by planks. Maybe you could give your new thing a go and see whether that path takes us out of here?"

He left her then to approach the stone table and pick up a metal shard from the surface, murmuring about Wuuthrad.

Rowan strode over to the entrance where planks of wood had been hastily nailed into the wall, but leaving enough distance to ensure her safety in case anything came tumbling down. She readied her stance and breathed deep.

"_Yol!_"

A veritable fireball exploded from her mouth. The flames took to the wood and soon the boards were splitting and dropping to the floor. She heard Farkas whistle in appreciation behind her and she allowed herself a smug smile.

The flames burned and destroyed, much like the Imperials had done to her home town. Much like the dragon that tore Helgen to pieces.

The embers, by comparison, glowed and hummed with warmth and promised the beginning of something else. Another fire could be stoked from the embers - a phoenix to rise from the ashes, but not for destructive purposes. Maybe a new fire, for a passion, a goal.

A burning to complete her quest and return to normalcy.


End file.
